


Believe

by leftennant



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Het, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Smangst, Smuff, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-08
Updated: 2014-05-08
Packaged: 2018-01-23 23:56:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1584104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leftennant/pseuds/leftennant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rose is holding her breath, not wanting to break the spell he’s weaving with his fingers.  He’s jumped from her hand to her hip, using his palm to slowly travel a course up her side.  The breath she’s been holding makes a shaky escape.  She doesn’t know what he’s thinking or even if he’s fully awake, but these gentle touches are so lovely and she doesn’t want them to stop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Believe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Endelda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Endelda/gifts).



> This is a little gift for Endelda, and also for my girls who've had a rough week. You know who you are. Snogs for you all.

Rose wraps her arms around herself and suppresses a shiver as she undresses in their room on Sanctuary Base. Outside is the enormous black hole, ravenously swallowing galaxies whole as they hang suspended in perpetual orbit around it . She doesn’t exactly fancy sleeping with that just beyond the walls, but there’s not much hope for it. Without the TARDIS, their other options are limited.

She turns her back to the window and toes off her trainers, tugs her jeans down her legs, and drapes them over a nearby chair. The chair is some sort of metal, grey like the rest of room. Spartan, ugly, and cold, it’s the type of room you’d only use for privacy and sleep, and frankly, it’s giving her the chills. She quickly strips off her socks and unhooks her bra under her t-shirt, maneuvering it free of her arms and discreetly tucking it under her jeans.

The Doctor’s things are set in a neat little pile on the table. Suit trousers, jacket, and his oxford all folded precisely and laid one on top of the other, trainers tucked away under the chair. Along with his sonic and the psychic paper, which are currently holding pride of place on top of the nightstand, this small collection of fabric comprises all his worldly possessions.

She’s tired and heartsick, her day spent trying to bolster the Doctor after his devastating loss of the TARDIS. Rose feels it too, the pain of losing the ship, but knows her need to have it back is nothing compared to his. The ship has been a constant presence in his life for nearly 900 years, Rose can’t imagine how much it hurts him to be cut off from her, and knowing she’ll have to be abandoned when they leave the base. 

Her eyes fall on the bed, where the Doctor is already lying prone against the side nearest the wall. All his attempts at humor regarding their situation long gone now. He’s completely still, not sleeping, just staring up the ceiling dully, and her heart breaks for him. He doesn’t deserve this. All he ever does is try to help, and it seems like the universe never really repays him in kind. Rose just can’t understand it. Surely there’s some sort of karma somewhere, why not for him?

With a sigh, she flips off the light and a row of luminescent auxiliary panels light up along the base of the wall, cloaking everything in dim blue light. It’s a small matter to cross the room and slip into bed, but she’s trying to do it as in unobtrusively as possible, loath to disturb the Doctor. She quickly slips under the covers and curls up on her right side, facing away from him. 

It’s not easy to sleep when you’re in an unfamiliar place and cut off from the closest thing to a home you’ve got, but Rose is exhausted both physically and emotionally. She begins to drift, not exactly asleep, but not what she’d call awake either. More like a fitful waking slumber, as she tries not to move and bump into the grieving Time Lord behind her. It’s not that they haven’t shared a bed. Traveling the way they do, sleeping arrangements are bound to be unpredictable, but usually the bunking together is full of humor and fun. They stay up half the night, laughing and talking, the Doctor animatedly telling her stories about the places he’s seen. 

Rose doesn’t know what to do with his unhappy silence. She has an intense longing to reach to out to him, but they’ve both been careful to keep physicality to a minimum when in bed like this. It’s an unspoken rule between them. Hand-holding and hugging is fine when they’re both safely behind the armor of their clothes, but once those items are off, they maintain somewhat of a decorous distance. Rose sometimes wonders about closing that distance, but she just isn’t sure how he’d feel about it. The Doctor is so enigmatic, all flirtation and flight. At any rate, tonight is not the best time to test that out.

She’s begun to drift again, strange hazy dreams flowing by the edge of her consciousness when the feeling of fingers tracing lightly across her wrist snap her back into consciousness. The caress is so fleeting that she’s not sure if she dreamt it. It comes again, this time the fingertips make swirling, circular patterns as they skate up her arm and continue to her neck. They pause there for moment, gently and insistently brushing errant strands of her hair off her shoulders and then travel back down again, tracing their way across her thumb and over the crease where it meets her index finger.

Rose is holding her breath, not wanting to break the spell he’s weaving with his fingers. He’s jumped from her hand to her hip, using his palm to slowly travel a course up her ribcage. The breath she’s been holding makes a shaky escape. She doesn’t know what he’s thinking or even if he’s fully awake, but these gentle touches are so lovely and she doesn’t want them to stop.

It’s all still rather innocent, his hand avoiding any areas that might be considered taboo. If it goes no further he can still claim in the morning that he was merely trying to soothe her to sleep. Or, and this is far more likely, never mention all together. 

Still, it’s becoming hard to pretend she’s not affected, and her lungs are refusing to keep a steady rhythm, their quickening pace is a dead giveaway to what she must be feeling. His fingers still where they’ve been wending their way across her stomach and when he speaks his voice is slightly unsteady. 

“Rose?”

She turns to face him, heart clenching when she sees his face. God she aches for him. The Doctor isn’t built for a static life, she’s afraid of what it might do to him.

“M’right here Doctor.” she says, cupping his face in her hand, “you an’ me, we’ll figure this out, yeah?”

Instead of answering, he turns his head into her palm, nuzzling gently. The air catches in her chest. She’s struck by just how beautiful he is, the strange blue glow from the floor throwing his features in stark relief and washing his skin so it’s white as chalk. 

“Rose, may I… That is if you don’t mind, I think I’d feel better if I could hold you. Would that be alright?” 

His eyes are nervous, unsure. She can’t recall ever seeing him like this. Even when he doesn’t have a plan, he’s always in command. Without a word, she scoots over and he enfolds her in his arms, breathing a shuddering sigh against the top of her head. She rubs a hand soothingly over his back, and feels some of the tension leave him. Taut muscles relax under her touch and the rise and fall of his chest begins to grow slow and steady against her. 

She wonders if he’s fallen asleep and tilts her chin up so she can check. He’s hasn’t, and she’s transfixed by his gaze, their faces a scant few inches apart on his pillow. Neither one of them moves, hovering on the edge of something they aren’t sure how to begin. 

In the end, the Doctor takes the initiative, slowly inclining his head, and angling his face so his lips can graze against hers. Rose freezes, torn between the need to deepen the kiss and the fear that if she moves too fast this will all end. He presses closer, growing more insistent as he feels her respond, sucking her bottom lip and eagerly slipping his tongue into her mouth when she opens to him.

Still stunned that he’s begun this, it takes a moment for Rose to catch up and return the kiss with the same amount of ardor. Soon she’s responding enthusiastically, fingers tangled in his hair, and he rolls them so he’s on top, one leg working its way between hers. The Doctor spends a considerable amount of time exploring her lips and face, dropping kisses haphazardly over her skin, first her forehead, followed by several scattered over her cheekbones. Then he nips at an earlobe, running his tongue over it afterwards and continuing down her neck. 

As his lips find the hollow of her throat, he skates a hand down her side until he finds the edge of her t-shirt and begins drawing it up over her ribcage. She helps him, lifting her body and stretching her arms overhead so he can pull it off. He drops to the floor, and eagerly returns to the newly exposed skin. The Doctor traces his tongue over one nipple and then blows on it, making her arch into him and moan, before taking it in his mouth and sucking lightly. 

The hand he’s not using to support his weight begins to wander again, palm sliding down the curves of Rose’s waist and hip. As he switches his attention to the other breast, she feels his slender fingers running along the top of her knickers. They pause just below her navel, toying with the fabric and then slip underneath. He groans against her chest when he finally finds her, wet and wanting. Fingers tease over her slick flesh, exploring with a light, almost indolent touch.

The Doctor’s mouth is now following the path his hand took, alternately nipping and kissing her skin as he traverses her body. As his lips press against her stomach, he slips his hand free but it’s back almost instantly, this time where the edge of her knickers meet her thigh. He catches the elastic in his fingers and pulls it over, giving himself better access.

His soft caresses are giving way to something more insistent, and his mouth is gradually coming nearer to her center. It’s a gorgeous torture and Rose is torn between desperately needing more, and never wanting it to end.

She feels his hot breath ghosting lower, closer and then the Doctor’s tongue runs lazily over her clit. It’s almost too much, what with his hand still tormenting her and the naughty, exposed way she feels because she’s still wearing her knickers. She can already sense her orgasm building and he’s barely even started.

“Please…” she begs as his tongue swipes over her again followed by gentle sucking.

“How close are you?” he murmurs, adding a second finger to the one currently stroking her inside. “Very?”

Rose nods furiously, unable to even articulate a simple yes. For a brief moment she thinks she can actually feel him smiling against her and then his tongue is on her and his fingers curl inside her and sensation overwhelms her until she can’t think of anything at all. 

The Doctor waits until her gasping subsides, and the arching of her hips becomes a slow roll before kissing his way back up her body. His progress is so measured and unhurried, that by the time he reaches her mouth, she’s beginning to feel the sweet burn of arousal coiling inside her again. 

She slides her hands under the bottom of his vest and begins pushing it up, fingers learning the shape of his body. It’s not quite human, the number of ribs making his frame just foreign enough for her to notice, and the rapid beat of the Doctor’s twin hearts more obvious with her palm directly over the bare skin of his chest. 

He reaches back with one hand and pulls the thin shirt the rest of the way off, absently tossing it somewhere nearby. Her knickers are still slightly crooked, and serving no real purpose other than a hindrance at this point, so she wriggles out of them as he’s divesting himself of his pants and then there’s nothing between them but skin. 

And God, it’s glorious she thinks, as he grinds his hips down on hers and she can feel just how much he wants this. Rose wraps her fingers around him and he gasps against her lips. 

“I…Rose… Gentle, I’m not quite…” He swallows hard. “There are differences… My physiology is, well…different from what you’re probably used to.”

“I noticed,” she said, immediately adjusting her hold on him and trying to understand what she’s feeling. “Is it alright if I…?”

His eyes roll back as she gives a light squeeze. “Yeah. More than. Just…I’m sensitive, more than a human male, so…”

“Gentle. Got it.” And her tongue pokes out between her teeth in concentration as she resumes touching him.

At first she just lets her fingers rove over him, so very familiar and yet…not. The general shape is similar, but a series of upraised ridges circle the shaft, growing thinner and closer together as they taper off towards the head. Growing bolder, she leans up on one arm so she can catch a better glimpse. It’s like nothing she’s ever seen. Rose sees him watching her, eyes a bit apprehensive as he tries to judge her reaction. 

“I should have warned….oh, that’s very…” He groans, hips pushing up. “…good.”

She smiles, a wee bit of smugness in it from his reaction to her touch. “Don’t mind. Bound to be differences, yeah? S’long as we fit…”

“We will,” he interrupts. “Believe me, Rose Tyler, we’ll fit. Oh, please….please that…again.”

She repeats her silky stroke, and he bucks into her hand, shoulders flexing as he holds himself up above her. She tightens her grip just slightly, increasing the friction and he drops his head to the pillow with an inarticulate sound of pleasure. 

The Doctor is panting now, eyelashes fluttering on her downstroke. He allows her to stroke him a few moments longer before he covers her hand with his own to stop her momentum.

“Rose…” he says pleadingly, and it’s a request she’s quick to understand.

She shifts her hips, aligning their bodies, and feels him brushing against her. His arms are shaking slightly on either side of her as he pushes forward into her heat, head bowed so he can watch himself join with her in one slow thrust. The feeling is indescribable. All the ridges along his member rubbing against her already sensitive flesh. She’s trembling beneath him even before he begins to move in measured, deliberate thrusts. Her whole being is reduced to the push and pull and a friction like nothing she’s ever experienced before. Rose’s head rolls on the pillow in ecstasy, her hips lifting up rhythmically to meet his.

The Doctor continues in this way, lips pressing to her skin languidly, arching his back to take a nipple in his mouth or grinding his hips against her as his tongue plunders her mouth. Rose runs her hands over his arms, his back, skimming them over his bum and pulling him deeper. He cries out helplessly as she does that, and she echoes him, the intensity of feeling stirring something primal in them both.

He catches her hands and pulls them up over her head, both wrists held captive in one of his hands, as he increases the power and speed of his thrusting. She looks up into his face to see his pupils blown wide with urgency and need. It’s clear he’s in the same state she was before, his release held back by sheer will as he struggles to bring her to the edge again before he finishes. 

There’s a slight scratch of stubble against her cheek as he presses his cheek to hers so his lips can reach her ear, and he reaches between them and rubs frantic fingers over her clit. “I want to feel you come. Rose…please, I need it. Need to feel you so I can…”

The combination of his fingers and desperate pleading are enough. Her second climax crashes over her, muscles fluttering and contracting wildly. The Doctor lasts another two thrusts and then follows her, shuddering in her arms as he utters string of words both English and Gallifreyan. It’s mostly unintelligible but she can just make out her name and one very notable, rather filthy curse he taught her once when she asked for a lesson in his native tongue.

His head is bowed over hers, fringe brushing her forehead. She’s still squeezing him spasmodically as the aftershocks of their joining course through her. His eyes finally open and he says something else she can’t discern, the words flowing like water. The look on his face is speaking volumes however, and she thinks that maybe she understands even without a translation.

Rose pulls her hands free and coaxes him down on top of her with her arms around his back. The Doctor willingly collapses against her. He’s still inside her, still hard as far as she can tell, and she brings her legs around his waist, locking them at the ankles. He sighs in contented relief, burrowing closer to her and nuzzling his face against her neck. She shifts a bit, dislodging him slightly, and he stills her movements with a hand on her hip. 

“Need a minute,” he mumbles, and to her surprise, he appears to be blushing.

“S’everything alright?” she asks, if anything, he’s blushing harder. Rose cups his face in her hand. “What is it?”

“Not…not human.” One side of his mouth twists apologetically. “I can’t just withdraw, I need more time to erm…”

“OH,” Rose says, word infused with understanding, and cuddles him closer.

“Sorry.”

“M’not,” she giggles. “S’like you have to snuggle afterwards. Some girls would kill for that.”

He chuckles, breath warm against her skin. “Rose Tyler, you’re brilliant, you are.”

“Enough to share doors and carpets with?” The questions isn’t about doors or carpets and they both know it.

“Enough to co-sign the mortgage with,” he replies quietly and she thrills from head to toe.

“Maybe we could get a spaceship instead. Travel. Do spaceships have mortgages?”

“We could always just…appropriate one,” he says, carefully slipping free of her and rolling them so that she is tucked up on his chest.

She looks at him in mock horror. “Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting? Living a life of crime? My mum would flip.”

“I stole the TARDIS, and that worked out, didn’t it?” he answers, propping himself up on an elbow so he can peer down at her.

“You know, I think we’re going to find her. I don’t know why…but I just do. S’like…I dunno.” She shrugs. “It just feels right that we would.”

“What, like a gut feeling?”

“Yeah.”

He appears to contemplate her words for a moment. “Well, if your intuition says that, then I wouldn’t be surprised if we did. You have an uncanny way of being right.”

“What are you sayin’,” she asks, smiling her tongue-touched grin, “that I’m some sort of fortune teller?”

“I am saying,” he replies, kissing her on the nose, “that I believe in you, Rose Tyler.”

“Do you?” she asks delightedly.

“Absolutely.”

She beams at him. “I believe in you, too.”

“Of course you do, just look at me. Who wouldn’t believe in me?” He smirks.

“Git,” she says, smacking his arm.

“Sleepy git," He corrects, and yawns. She sees it and yawns as well. “Sleepy Rose, too,” he says.

“Mmm, yeah, I could do with a kip. This day has been Ood.”

“Very Ood,” he agrees. "Here.” And he sorts out the pillows before pulling her close again. “Good night, Rose.”

“G’night, my Doctor.”


End file.
